Angel of the Snow
by madelinear
Summary: Boy, I keep ripping these things out! Sad little fic. An unhappy ending- or is it?


Angel of the snow  
By: Sugar Princess  
  


Disclaimer: Christian and Satine do not belong to me. Alas, forsooth, and all that over good stuff.  
Claimer: the two people at the end that you have no clue as to who they are.  
Author's note: This fic is squeaky clean. How pathetic.  
  
  
  
Christian stood at his window, waiting. Satine should be coming soon. Where was she?  
  
Just before Christian went totally mad with anxiety, she appeared, walking hurriedly to his building. She was snuggled down into her coat, the collar pulled up, her hair pulled up.  
  
It started to snow just before she reached the door- lazy, fat flakes swirled in the air.  
  
Satine looked up in wonder at the snow. Slowly, she removed her hand from her pocket and reached out to catch a flake in her hand. A smile spread across her face.  
  
Christian watched her, both confused and amused. What on earth was she doing down there?  
  
Satine let the snowflake fall to the ground, and reached out and caught another.  
  
Christian laughed softly. She was going to catch her death out there. Grabbing a blanket, he left his room and started down the stairs.  
  
Satine looked up at the dark sky, completely enthralled with the dots of white swirling down at her. She closed her eyes and tossed her head back, catching the snowflakes on her tongue  
  
Christian ran out of his building.  
  
"Satine!" he called. Satine's head snapped forward. She smiled shyly.  
  
"I like the snow?" she said, making it sound like a question.  
  
"It's freezing out here." He said, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.  
  
"No, it's not," she pointed out "You're cold because you left your coat inside." She shook her head at his forgetfulness, clucking her tongue. She whipped the blanket off herself and put it around his shoulders.  
  
"There," she said, twirling a piece of his hair with her fingers. "Better?"  
  
He nodded, too stunned to speak. She had never looked more gorgeous.  
  
Her cheeks were flushed with delight, her eyes wide and filled with joy. Her mouth was curved into a real smile, one without pretense or lies. Her copper hair was spotted with tiny snowflakes.  
  
He smiled in spite of himself. "Come on inside. It's cold out here."  
  
She rolled her eyes, pouted and sighed. "You're no fun, Christian."   
  
A second later, her face broke into that magnificent smile again. She had obviously just thought of an idea. She giggled, and took Christian's hand, and started into a run. "Where are we going?" Christian asked as he was dragged along the streets and out of Montmartre.  
  
Satine said nothing.  
  
They were in a park, running down the tree-lined walk, until Satine thought she could stop.  
  
"What are w-" Without warning, Satine threw herself into a snow bank. "-doing?"  
  
Satine giggled and started to move her arms and legs.   
  
"Satine? Darling, what are you doing?"  
  
"Making a snow-angel." She said matter-of-factly. "What else?"  
  
"Sweetheart, it's freezing out here."  
  
"Oh, stop being such a baby and come down here and make a snow-angel with me!" she demanded. He shook his head.  
  
"Uh uh. It's too cold."  
  
She pouted, whimpering just loudly enough so that he could hear it.  
  
He looked at her and smiled, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "Alright..."  
  
He flopped down in the snow besides her. "There. Happy?"  
  
"Good. Now make a snow-angel." She instructed.  
  
Christian groaned. "Sati-ine."  
  
"Christi-ian." She mimicked.  
  
He moved his arms and legs in the perfunctory movements. "Voíla. My snow angel is completed. What a masterpiece. Let's go home."  
  
"Now we have to admire them." She said. She gripped his hand. "Now, get up carefully so you don't ruin them."  
  
Christian shrugged, humoring her. "Okay..." They got up at the same time, then stood back and admired their creations.   
  
"Oh, no." Satine said, distraught.  
  
"What?" asked Christian.  
  
"I stepped in it. It's ruined."  
  
"Is not."  
  
"Is too. And look at yours- it's perfect. It's not fair."  
  
Christian put an arm around her shoulder, leaning his head close to hers. "Everything you do is perfect," he whispered into her ear. Satine smiled and leaned into his gratefully.  
  
Just when Christian thought Satine had gotten over it, she whimpered again. "Yours is perfect and unblemished and mine has this giant footstep in it." She smiled drily. "Just like the people who created them."  
  
Christian groaned and released her. He jumped on to his snow angel, creating giant marks on it.  
  
"There," he panted, still hopping. "You have the better one now!"  
  
He stopped jumping when she didn't respond.  
  
"Darling?" he looked around. "Satine?"  
  
From a behind the tree, a snicker. Christian's face burst into a grin. "I'm going to get you!"  
  
Satine let out a shriek and started to run.  
  
  
  
"What is that ghastly noise?" asked the old woman sitting in her rocker. The younger woman patted her hand.  
  
"It's nothing, Mama."  
  
The old lady cocked her head. "No, Louise- I distinctly hear calling in that park across the street."  
  
Louise pulled the curtains back. After a moment, she closed the curtains, shaking her head sadly and clucking her tongue.  
  
"Well, what was it, Louise?" the old woman asked.  
  
"That's poor writer from Montmartre."  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"Poor thing lost his mind a few years ago. Terrible shame."  
  
The old lady sniffed. "He had best have a good reason as to why he is shrieking about our parks in the middle of the night."  
  
Louise sighed. "Mama, he lost his love a few years back. Whenever he comes here, he thinks he's with her." Louise pulled back the curtains, watching him duck and chase something that wasn't there.   
  
The old lady smiled cryptically. "Or maybe he is."  



End file.
